Emery POV

The elevator in the Blackwood Corp Tower was a glass cage, ascending smoothly toward the heavens, but my stomach felt like it was plummeting straight to hell.

Outside, the city of Seattle was a sprawling grid of grey and steel, indifferent to my humiliation. An hour ago, I had stood on a windy tarmac, waiting for a husband who never came. No Alpha. No welcome. Just a text message to a low-level employee to come and fetch "the package."

That employee was standing next to me now.

Janice Spears. She was a sharp-featured woman with a smile that didn't reach her calculating eyes. She had been studying me since I got into her car, her gaze lingering on my clothes, my hair, searching for flaws.

"It's quite a surprise," Janice said, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. "Usually, positions in the executive wing are reserved for Pack members who have served for years. It makes one wonder what kind of... persuasion you used to get the Alpha to bypass protocol."

The implication hung in the air, thick and ugly. She thought I slept my way into a job I didn't even want.

I turned slowly, meeting her gaze. I had grown up in the Silvermoon Pack, where politics were as sharp as claws. I knew how to handle a bully.

"My resume speaks for itself, Janice," I said, my voice cool and steady. "And unless your job description includes questioning the Alpha's decisions, I suggest you focus on the floor numbers."

Janice's mouth snapped shut. Her cheeks flushed a mottled red, the scent of her irritation—sour milk and burnt rubber—filling the small space. She didn't speak again until the doors slid open on the top floor.

"This way," she clipped, stepping out onto the polished marble floor.

The penthouse level was silent, oppressive. It felt less like an office and more like a temple dedicated to a cruel god. As we approached the massive double doors at the end of the hall, Janice stopped, smoothing her skirt. She seemed to need a moment to compose herself before entering the sanctuary.

"You should know," Janice whispered, her tone shifting to one of reverent defense. "Alpha Madden is a man of immense honor. He takes his responsibilities very seriously. If he wasn't at the airfield today, it's because he was handling a crisis. Protecting the Pack. He doesn't have time for... social pleasantries."

I almost laughed. Honor? Leaving your arranged bride standing on a runway like unwanted luggage was honor?

"I'm sure he's a regular hero," I replied dryly. "A coward hiding behind 'Pack business' is still a coward."

Janice gasped, looking at me with horror, but before she could defend her precious leader, she pushed the heavy oak doors open.

"Go in. The CEO is expecting you."

I stepped across the threshold, and the world tilted.

The scent hit me first. It wasn't the sterile smell of an office. It was a physical force—a storm crashing into a forest, wild rain, crushed pine needles, and something dark, sweet, and electric like burning amber.

My breath hitched in my throat. My heart, which had been beating a steady rhythm of anger, suddenly hammered against my ribs. Thump-thump-thump. A violent, desperate cadence.

Safe. Home. Whole.

The strange, alien thoughts whispered through my mind, bringing a sudden, terrifying sense of peace to my battered soul. My knees went weak.

I looked up.

The office was enormous, a throne room of glass and mahogany. But I saw none of it. My vision tunneled toward the man sitting behind the desk.

He was massive. Even seated, his shoulders were broad, straining against the fabric of his charcoal suit. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, as if he had been running his hands through it in frustration.

He wasn't looking at me. He was staring at a file on his desk, his hand gripping a pen so hard I thought it might snap.

"Sir?" I managed to choke out.

He looked up.

His eyes were the color of a turbulent ocean, dark and swirling with a rage so potent it felt like a physical blow. When his gaze locked onto mine, a jolt of electricity arced through the air, sizzling against my skin.

I shivered, my body betraying me. I expected him to speak, to introduce himself. I assumed this was the CEO, a high-ranking Beta perhaps, running the business while my coward husband played soldier.

But he didn't speak. He stared at me with a mixture of hunger and hatred that made my blood run cold.

"Emery Travis," he said. His voice was a low rumble, vibrating in my chest. It wasn't a greeting; it was an accusation.

He tossed my resume across the desk. It slid over the polished wood and stopped at the edge.

"I see here you have a background in graphic design," he said, his tone dripping with ice. "We are a logistics and security conglomerate, Ms. Travis. We deal in facts, in steel, in blood. What use do I have for someone who draws pretty pictures?"

The insult was sharp enough to cut through the strange, intoxicating haze clouding my mind. He was trying to intimidate me. He was just another arrogant male in power.

I straightened my spine, forcing my trembling legs to hold still.

"A company that deals in steel and blood needs a face that doesn't terrify the public," I countered, surprised by the steadiness of my own voice. "Design isn't about pretty pictures, sir. It's about controlling the narrative. And judging by the fear in your receptionist's eyes, your narrative needs work."

Silence stretched between us, taut as a bowstring.

The man stood up. He towered over the desk, his knuckles white as he leaned forward. For a second, I thought he was going to lunge at me. The scent of storm and pine intensified, suffocating me, making my inner wolf whine in submission.

Mine, a voice in my head whispered. Danger, my logic screamed.

"Get out," he growled, his voice rough, as if the words physically hurt him. "Report to the Liaison Department. Don't make me regret letting you into this building."

I turned and fled, my heart racing not from fear, but from a confusing, devastating thrill I couldn't understand. I hated him. He was rude, aggressive, and terrifying.

So why did my soul feel like it was being torn in half as the heavy doors clicked shut behind me?

Emery POV

My heart was still hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I navigated the corridors to the Liaison Department. The lingering scent of rain and burning amber from the CEO's office clung to my senses, a ghostly reminder of the man who had looked at me with such raw, inexplicable hatred.

Pull yourself together, Emery, I scolded myself. You are here to work. You are here to survive.

The Liaison Department was a sprawling open-plan space encased in glass, offering a panoramic view of Seattle's grey skyline. Heads turned as I entered. I could feel the weight of their gazes—curious, dismissive, predatory.

Janice Spears was waiting for me near a corner office, her arms crossed over her chest. The fake smile was back, plastered onto her face like a sticker.

"You survived," she said, her tone suggesting she had bet against it. "Alpha Madden can be... intense."

"He's passionate about the company," I lied smoothly, refusing to let her see my rattled nerves. "Where do I start?"

Janice's eyes glinted. She picked up a thick red folder from a nearby desk and held it out. "We have a situation. The Crimson Fang Pack. Their Alpha, Marcus Thorne, is in Conference Room B waiting to finalize the annual joint training protocols. It's a formality, really, but he insists on a face-to-face."

She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Honestly, nobody else is available. If you can get his signature, you'll prove to everyone—including the CEO—that you belong here. Unless, of course, you're not up for it?"

It was a challenge. I could smell the deception on her—it smelled like sulfur and cheap perfume—but I didn't have the luxury of refusing. I needed a win.

"I'll handle it," I said, taking the folder.

Janice's smile widened, showing too many teeth. "Excellent. Don't keep him waiting."

I walked toward the conference room, ignoring the pitying looks from the other staff members. I straightened my blazer, took a deep breath, and pushed open the heavy glass door.

The room was soundproof, cutting off the hum of the office instantly. Seated at the far end of the long mahogany table was a man who looked less like an Alpha and more like a caricature of one. Marcus Thorne was heavy-set, with greasy blonde hair slicked back and a suit that strained at the buttons.

He didn't look at the file I placed on the table. He looked at my legs.

"You're new," Marcus drawled, his voice thick and wet. "Blackwood usually sends me old men in grey suits. I like this change."

"I'm Emery Travis, the new Liaison Officer," I said, keeping my voice professional and cold. I opened the folder. "We need to review the liability clauses on page four, Alpha Thorne."

"Boring," he grunted, waving a hand dismissively. He stood up and began to circle the table, moving with a predatory slowness. The scent of him hit me then—stale cigar smoke and unwashed musk. My inner wolf curled her lip in disgust.

"I don't care about clauses, sweetheart," Marcus said, stopping right behind my chair. "I care about hospitality. And Blackwood has been very... cold lately."

I stood up abruptly, putting the chair between us. "If you aren't interested in the contract, I can reschedule."

"Sit down," he snapped, his eyes flashing a muddy yellow. "You think you can dismiss an Alpha? You're just a little Omega bitch in a skirt."

He lunged.

It wasn't an attack to kill; it was an attack to dominate. He closed the distance before I could react, his hand gripping the back of my neck. He yanked me forward, forcing my head to the side.

"Let's see if you smell as good as you look," he hissed, burying his nose toward my scent gland.

It was a violation. In our world, scenting another wolf without permission was an act of claiming, a prelude to assault.

"Get off me!" I shouted, stomping my heel down onto his foot.

Marcus howled in pain and loosened his grip. I scrambled back, my back hitting the cold glass wall.

"You little whore!" Marcus roared, his face turning purple. "I'll tear this alliance to shreds! I'll have your Alpha begging on his knees before I—"

BOOM.

The double doors didn't just open; they exploded inward, slamming against the walls with a force that shook the floor.

Aiden Madden stood in the doorway.

He wasn't the CEO anymore. He was pure, unadulterated violence. His suit jacket was gone, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. But it was the air around him that terrified me. It crackled with black electricity, the pressure in the room dropping so sharply my ears popped.

His eyes were pitch black. The wolf was in control.

Marcus froze, the color draining from his face. "Alpha Madden, I was just—"

"Silence."

The command wasn't shouted. It was a low, guttural growl that vibrated through the very marrow of my bones. It was the Alpha's Command.

Marcus dropped to his knees as if invisible hands had crushed him. He gasped for air, clutching his throat, his eyes bulging with terror.

Aiden didn't even look at him. He crossed the room in two long strides, placing himself directly between me and the kneeling Alpha. The scent of storm and pine enveloped me, thick and suffocatingly protective.

Mine. Safe. Mine.

The voice in my head was deafening. Aiden's back was a wall of tension, his shoulders heaving as he fought for control.

"You touched her," Aiden said. His voice was devoid of humanity. It was the sound of a monster contemplating murder. "You dared to touch what is in my territory."

"She... she disrespected me!" Marcus wheezed, trying to resist the crushing pressure of Aiden's aura.

"The alliance is terminated," Aiden stated, his tone final. "If you are not out of my building in thirty seconds, I will remove your head from your shoulders and mail it to your Beta."

"Get. Out."

The pressure lifted just enough for Marcus to scramble to his feet. He didn't look at me. He didn't look at Aiden. He ran, stumbling over his own feet in his haste to escape the predator that had just filled the room.

Silence descended, heavy and suffocating.

I stared at Aiden's broad back, my breath catching in my throat. He had saved me. The man who looked at me with hatred had just nearly killed an ally to protect me.

Slowly, Aiden turned around. The black was fading from his eyes, replaced by that turbulent, stormy blue. He looked at me, his chest heaving, his expression a war zone of fury and... something else. Something that looked terrifyingly like possession.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded, the words sharp and clipped.

I shook my head, unable to speak.

He didn't offer comfort. He didn't ask what happened. He just stared at me, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek, as if my very presence was a torture he couldn't escape.

Aiden POV

The beast inside me was pacing, clawing at the back of my skull, demanding blood. It took every ounce of my restraint not to chase Marcus Thorne down the hallway and rip his throat out. He had touched her. He had dared to put his filthy hands on what the Moon Goddess had decided was mine.

Mine. The word echoed in my head, a taunt rather than a comfort.

I turned my back on Emery. I couldn't look at her. If I looked at her—at those wide, terrified eyes and that trembling mouth—I would lose the fragile grip I had on my control. I would claim her right here on the conference table, consequences be damned.

Instead, I focused my rage on the incompetence that had allowed this to happen.

Janice Spears stood near the door, her face a mask of crumbling plaster. She reeked of fear—sour and acrid.

"You," I growled, my voice low but carrying the weight of a thunderclap.

Janice flinched. "Alpha Madden, I... I didn't know he would—"

"Silence."

The command slammed into her, snapping her jaw shut. I stalked toward her, the employees in the open-plan office parting like the Red Sea. They kept their heads down, submitting to the aura of violence rolling off me.

"You sent a junior liaison into a room with a known predator," I said, stopping inches from her. "You failed to vet the client. You failed to secure the perimeter. You failed to protect a member of this Pack's staff."

"It was a test," she whimpered, sweat beading on her forehead.

"A test?" I laughed, a dark, humorless sound. "You gambled with my assets. In my Pack, stupidity is a crime."

I looked around the room, meeting the gaze of every terrified onlooker. "Janice Spears is hereby stripped of her title. You are demoted to Junior Assistant in Archives. If I see you on this floor again, you will be terminated. Permanently."

I didn't wait for her response. I turned on my heel and stormed toward the elevators, forcing myself not to glance back at the conference room where Emery still stood.

Hours later, my office felt like a cage.

The scent of her—wild lavender and rain-soaked pine—was haunting me. It clung to my clothes, my skin, my very soul. I tried to focus on the acquisition reports on my desk, but the letters blurred.

Suddenly, a sharp spike of irritation pierced my mind. It wasn't mine.

My head snapped up. The bond—that thin, unwanted thread connecting me to her—vibrated with a foreign presence. It was faint, muffled by the distance and the fact that we hadn't completed the mating process, but I could feel it.

A male presence.

It was sliding into her mind, familiar and possessive.

Who is he? My wolf snarled, pacing aggressively in my mind's eye. Kill him.

I couldn't hear their words, but I could feel the texture of the connection. It was intimate. Comfortable. She was opening her mind to another male while I sat here, fighting a war against my own instincts.

The intercom buzzed. "Sir," Ferdinand's voice came through, hesitant. "You asked for an update on... the new Liaison Officer."

"Speak," I gritted out.

"She has left the building. She has a reservation at The Gilded Antler for three."

"Three?"

"Yes, sir. She met a man and a woman in the lobby. The man... he seemed very close to her."

My pen snapped in half, ink exploding over my hand like black blood.

So, she had a lover. And she was parading him around my city, eating at my restaurants, mocking the bond that was currently tearing me apart.

"Get the car," I ordered, standing up. The chair flew back and hit the wall. "Now."

The Gilded Antler was dim, smelling of roasted venison and old money. The maître d' froze when he saw me, his face draining of color, but I ignored him. My eyes scanned the room, hunting.

I found them in a secluded booth near the back.

Emery was sitting there, her back to the wall. She looked beautiful, which only fueled my rage. But it was the man next to her that made my vision swim with red.

He was the one from the airport. The one who had touched her arm. The one whose scent was all over her.

As I watched, the man leaned over and wrapped his arm around the woman sitting next to him—a woman with long dark hair, similar to Emery's. He pulled her in and kissed her deeply, a display of affection that was nauseatingly public.

And Emery? She was smiling.

She was watching her lover kiss another woman, smiling as if this depravity was normal. Was this what she was? A woman with no morals? A woman who shared her bed and her heart with whoever was available?

The betrayal tasted like ash in my mouth. I had almost killed an Alpha today to protect her honor, and here she was, spitting on mine.

I didn't just walk toward their table; I marched toward it like an executioner approaching the scaffold. The air in the restaurant grew heavy, the chatter dying out as my Alpha aura suffocated the room.

I stopped at the edge of their table. My shadow fell over them, cold and absolute.

Emery looked up, her glass of water halfway to her lips. Her eyes widened in shock, and for a second, I saw fear. Good. She should be afraid.

"Mr. Madden?" she squeaked, her voice trembling.

She didn't know. She had no idea that the man standing above her wasn't just her boss, but the husband she had betrayed before the ink on the marriage certificate was even dry.

And I was going to make sure she regretted every single second of it.